Fallout
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: This is a missing scene between Karen & Derek after her fall at the end of "The National Pastime" number. One-shot


_It's been a while since I wrote anything and I have incalculable stories yet to finish (not Smash ^^) but I had to write this snippet, please bear with me! _[for more explanations, see my profile]_  
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Missing scene from "_The Workshop_" (S01E07)

Karen falls from the props at the end of _The National Pastime_ number.

**Disclaimer: Smash is not mine.**

I landed on the floor with a thump, the hi-hat crashing down with me. More than the initial shock, the sound made me wince. Pain… can't breathe… disorientated… What is wrong with me? That Iowa girl label seems to stick to my forehead like a flashing neon sign. "I'm sorry, I think I just…"  
>Jessica looks worried. The others look worried. Oh god, is it this bad?<br>"You all right?" I nod. Am I okay? I guess I am, I can see, kind of fuzzy though, I can think, barely, I can hear. "I think I'm…" To be honest, I feel like a beetle on its back, sincerely, I wish…  
>"And that's intermission."<br>God. For a fleeting moment I had forgotten everything about the workshop, and my missed appointment with Bobby Raskin. To tell the truth, I'd even forgotten everything about Wills. Wills who's going to tear my head off and fire me on the spot. That's just my luck. And everything was going on so smoothly. Ivy was stunning and…  
>"What is wrong with you for god's sake," Derek hisses, waving away the dancers that have flocked around me. The ensemble vanishes from my sight and here he is, hovering over me, with that smirk on his face, his hands buried in his pockets.<br>From my standing (should I say lying) point, all I can see clearly are his tired shoes and his rumpled pants. The guy is such a cliché. Well, maybe I am too. I feel tears welling up and try to stand up.  
>"Do you seriously think that we have time for your improvs when this workshop has already transformed into an utter disaster?"<br>Better stay put, then. He looks around, satisfied. What? Am I reading this wrong? Why would he be? If he were a cat, I bet he would just settle down and start licking his tail, -and keep staring. I have to get this disturbing image out of my head, now!  
>"Are you all right?" he asks eventually after a pregnant pause. His voice echoes in the deserted studio.<br>"I'm fine… yes… thank you..." My voice falters.  
>"Oh please, enough with your rabbit in the headlights routine. I don't sense that you're ready to crawl back into your hole just yet. Either you're okay or you're not. Which is it?" With that, he squats down beside me, his eyes locked on mine. I raise my head and glare back.<br>"I am… fine," I stammer again. Tiny speckles of gold in his eyes. He smells nice. English Lavender. Yes, the guy is definitely a walking cliché. But he's hot. Hot? Derek Wills? I must have bumped my head harder than I thought…  
>"Let me," he finally says, and offers me a helping hand, -warm and strong, much stronger than I anticipated. I'm leaning on him and not in the least dizzy, which must be a good sign.<br>"Do you feel any pain?" He seems concerned, and stares again.  
>Oh, no, he's not staring but rather scanning my eyes. He lets go of me and tucks his hands back into his pockets. He looks me up and down. "You will live."<br>He walks away but changes his mind. "Karen, it's not working," he says in his particular monotone.  
>My heart stops. This is it. I bite my lip so hard that it's a miracle I don't bleed.<br>Not seemingly acknowledging my current state of mind, "so," he says, "you seem to have miraculously avoided a more severe concussion, and I have to compliment you for this little stunt. Thanks to you, this unfortunate incident is of great merit. It took our investor's attention away from the problem. Ivy totally flunked, and I need someone to take over."  
>Now I'm simply gaping. I must look like a complete idiot.<br>Oblivious or not to my uneasiness, he continues. "Takeover does not necessarily mean hostile, Karen." Now he's smiling. "You know the part, I reckon."  
>I protest feebly. "But I thought she was perfect!" And, really, I thought she was. Pitch perfect.<br>"That would be the reason you're on 200$ a week," he quips. "We shall talk soon. I'll have my assistant call you. In the mean time, you don't tell anyone. Karen, I mean it. Nobody can know about it, not even Mr Oxford. Am I clear?"  
>I swallow and nod or the other way round. I probably should say something but the words are stuck in my throat.<br>"Perfect. I'm glad you agree. Let's hope you regain your voice before you become our new Marilyn."


End file.
